Dana gave me a rueful grin, rubbing her own head.
The women converged on Poiku, helping him to his feet, clucking sympathetically over him, and shooting me a few more dirty looks.
I caught sight of Caitlyn standing at the front of the room, a haughty expression on her face. She looked at me the same way my high school gym teacher had the time I accidentally threw a basketball through one of the gym's windows and sprayed everyone with glass.
"Ladies," Caitlyn said to the room. "I think that's enough for today. Give yourself a round of applause. See you same time next week."
One by one, women in workout wear that cost more than my car payment filed out of the room, leaving their grass skirts in a pile by the door, until Blakely was the only class-goer left. She stood against the far wall, guzzling down a green sports drink and avoiding eye contact with us.
I glanced up to the head of the room. Caitlyn was engaged in what looked like a very serious discussion with Poiku about his cracked ukulele and who was going to pay for it.
I felt this was our opening. I quickly crossed the room to Blakely, with Dana a step behind me.
"Hi there," I said, giving her a friendly wave. "You remember us."
She nodded. "You're clearly not here to take a class. So what are you doing back here?"
"Actually, we were here to talk to you," Dana added.
"Me?" Her eyes narrowed, but I could see a hint of fear behind them. "About what?"
"About something we found in Dog's dressing room on the set of In the Kitchen."
The fear in her eyes was unmistakable this time, her gaze darting to Caitlyn. "Wh-what do you mean? What did you find?"
"Something you gave him," Dana said pointedly.
Blakely put a hand over her mouth. "Oh no. You know, don't you?"
Dana nudged me in the ribs. "Yes, we do," she said confidently. "So you might as well tell us everything."
Blakely licked her full lips. "Okay, but not here." She grabbed her gym bag and gestured for us to go with her. I could feel Caitlyn's eyes on us as we quickly followed Blakely out into the hallway, but I didn't dare turn around. If Blakely was about to confess to being Secret Lover and possibly Drink Poisoner, I didn't want to miss our chance.
"So, tell us how it happened?" Dana asked once we were clear of Room C.
Blakely pursed her lips together, looking like she might cry. "Look, you can't tell Caitlyn, okay? She'd kill me if she found out."
Interesting word choice. But I just nodded, urging her to go on.
"Your secret is safe with us," Dana assured her.
"How did you know it was me?" Blakely asked hoarsely.
"We narrowed it down," Dana said. Which I guess sounded much better than stab in the dark. "Tell us what happened?"
She licked her lips again. "Nothing. I mean, it was nothing. It just—well, I missed it, you know? Dog got me hooked when we were together, and…and I haven't found anything else like it."
I didn't see the appeal of the rapper myself, but I supposed love was blind.
"How long had this been going on?" Dana asked.
"A couple of months," Blakely said. "But I never thought anyone would find out. I mean, we were careful. And quick. I was in and out in five minutes, tops."
Eww. Please, spare me the details.
Blakely had the good grace to at least look embarrassed. "I've been trying to stop, but I'm only human. I'd get all jittery if I didn't see him every few days. I mean, the cravings are real."
Dana wrinkled her nose. "Way too much information."
Blakely stiffened. "Hey, don't judge me. You'd do the same thing if you'd been in my shoes. Dog has—or had—the best blend. Premium homegrown. So sweet. So sticky. But it's not like I did it every day."
Then it dawned on me what she meant. Thank goodness. "Wait—are you saying Dog was supplying you with marijuana?"
Blakely looked puzzled. "Of course. What did you think I meant?"
I glanced at Dana, who looked about as sheepish as I felt. "Never mind," I said, shaking my head. "But you were seeing Dog regularly?"
"Yeah." She nodded. "To buy his special Woofster blend."
A laugh escaped Dana, but she quickly covered it.
"Like I said," Blakely went on, "there was nothing else like it. It's the only thing that helps my anxiety."
"So for the past couple of months, you've been secretly visiting Dog and buying weed from him?" I confirmed.
She nodded, biting her lip. "You cannot tell Caitlyn! You promised."
"Why all the secrecy?" I asked. "Isn't the stuff legal in California now?"
She wrung her hands together. "You don't understand. Caitlyn is like a health nut. I told her I gave up smoking a year ago. And I did! I just…well, with the new show coming up, it's been stressful, and I've kinda needed something to take the edge off, you know? But I knew Cait would be super ticked off. She's been training me for Bachelor Bikini Island, and she'd kill me if she found out I'd been messing that up."
Well, that was disappointing. And here I'd been hoping for a real confession. I saw the same thoughts mirrored in the frown on Dana's face.
"So you and Dog weren't having an affair?" Dana asked.
Blakely's face was contorted with shock. "Ohmigosh, no! Why would I want to make the same mistake twice?" She frowned. "Why would you think I was hooking up with Dog again?"
"We found a note in Dog's dressing room," Dana said. "It sounded like a love letter…possibly from an old flame."
"Well it wasn't me!" For the first time Blakely's face looked perfectly sincere. "Trust me, that ship had sailed. I was strictly interested in Dog's bud."
"Do you think it could have been Caitlyn who rekindled something with him?" I asked.
"No way." Blakely shook her head vigorously. "She's seeing Craig Rogers." Our blank expression must have told her the name was lost on us, as she continued. "The LA Stars' center fielder? There's no way she'd take up with Dog and risk screwing that up."
"Screw up what?" Caitlyn exited Room C, water bottle in hand, eyes narrowed as she took in the scene.
"Your hula class," I said quickly. "I'm sorry we screwed it up. I have two left feet."
"In three-inch heels no less," Dana added.
Caitlyn smiled, but the look in her eyes was wary. As if she didn't believe we were there to try her class any more than Blakely had. "Well, the class is geared toward those who work out regularly." She gave Dana and me an up-and-down that said our body fat percentages certainly did not pass muster.
I saw Dana's spine stiffen, but luckily, she kept her scathing comments to herself.
"Right, well, clearly we're not cut out for it, so we'll just be on our way." I grabbed Dana by the arm and steered her back out toward the front doors. Even as I could hear Caitlyn interrogating Blakely at our retreating backs.
"What did they want?" Caitlyn asked.
"I dunno. Just asking stuff about Dog again."
"What stuff?"
"Just, you know…stuff."
As we rounded the corner, I saw Caitlyn lean in and say something more, but by then we were out of earshot. As much as I might have wanted to eavesdrop, it was clear we'd worn out our welcome.
"The nerve of her," Dana said as we pushed back out into the sunshine. "Do I look like I don't work out regularly?"
"Absolutely not," I assured her as we got back into her car.
"It's the carbs, isn't it? Craft services has doughnuts on set every morning, and I just can't resist all the time."
"You look great. Caitlyn was just being snarky."
"With the shooting long days, I just don't have time to go to the gym, you know?" Dana said, turning on the engine and cranking the AC. "I mean, I'm exhausted by the time I get home. And there are all the lines to learn for the next day."
"Dana, you look great. If you can fit into a latex cat suit, you're fine."
She nodded. "Barely. It barely fits."
"Do you know how many women would kill to barely
fit into a size 2 latex suit?"
Dana contemplated that for a moment. "Okay, but I'm not eating another bear claw for the rest of the pilot." She paused. "So what do we think about Blakely's story?"
"That she was seeing Dog purely for his weed hook up?" I nodded. "I'm inclined to believe her."
"She did seem genuinely worried that Caitlyn would find out."
I nodded. "I get the feeling that Caitlyn is the alpha in that relationship."
"I get the feeling that Caitlyn is the alpha in any relationship," Dana said with an eye roll. "Poor Craig Rogers."
"But, you know, just because Blakely wasn't seeing Dog for romantic reasons, that doesn't mean she still couldn't have killed him," I pointed out.
"Over what?" Dana asked.
"Well, maybe a drug deal gone wrong?"
Dana shot me a get real look. "Okay, Nancy Reagan. This isn't East LA in 1985, you know."
I let out a laugh. "Okay, fine. Point taken."
"My grandmother smokes pot," Dana added.
"I said point taken." I shot her a grin. "Okay, how about this: maybe Blakely was paranoid about people finding out she was smoking. She seemed to want to keep it from Caitlyn pretty badly."
"Badly enough to kill?"
"Maybe. Or maybe it has to do with the upcoming TV show?"
Dana nodded. "Actually, you could be on to something there. I know some studios require drug tests. You know, for liability issues in case of an overdose or something. They need to know their stars can function to actually fulfill their contracts."
"So there you have it! Maybe Dog threatened to go public with Blakely's dirty little secret, and she killed him to protect her new role."
Dana did some more nodding. "Sure. I guess I could see that. But, of those two exes, I could see Caitlyn being the more vindictive type."
"Because she called you out of shape?"
"Because someone wrote Dog that letter. And if it wasn't Blakely, maybe it was Caitlyn."
"Despite the fact that she's seeing a hot center fielder?" I asked, sounding as dubious as I felt.
"Maybe she had to satisfy her cravings too?" Dana said with a grin.
"Eww. Don't ever say that again."
Dana laughed. "Okay, so if Caitlyn isn't the old flame either, that just leaves Wives Number One and Two."
"And considering Wife Number Two is in France, I'm leaning toward Wife Number One—Laura."
"But don't forget Angela Gold," Dana pointed out. "They dated too. Nothing in the note specifically said wife, right?"
I pursed my lips. "Good point. Okay, Angela Gold or Laura Delmoore." I pictured both women in my mind. Of the two, only one seemed to be grieving Dog's death at all. Of course, Angela was an actress—she could have just been acting like she didn't care about his death. "You know, Laura's son John came to see me this morning."
Dana raised an eyebrow my way. "Do tell."
I did, filling her in on the meeting at the coffeehouse as she drove me back to my car outside Legends restaurant where I'd left it.
"Anyway, I had the feeling that someone had put him up to meeting with me," I finished.
"Like his mother?" Dana supplied as she pulled to a stop at the curb in front of the restaurant.
I nodded. "At first I thought it was to save face. You know, maybe Laura made John realize how bad it made the family look, the way he talked about his dad. But now I wonder."
"Wonder if maybe she was guilty of having an affair with Dog, one that went wrong again, and she killed him over it? Then she sent her son to find out how much the police really know?"
"Something like that," I said, wondering if the grieving woman I'd seen in her home could really be that calculating.
"Well, let's go confront her!" Dana said, on a roll. "Right now. Tell her we know about the affair."
"Slow down," I told her. "First off, we don't know for sure she's Dog's Secret Lover."
"An educated guess."
"And secondly," I said, ignoring her false claims of education, "I have to pick the twins up from school." I glanced at her dash clock. "In half an hour."
Dana pouted. But there wasn't much she could say to argue that one. "Okay, fine. Go be supermom." She sighed dramatically. "I guess I should go work on my lines for tomorrow anyway."
I grinned at her. "I'll call you later," I promised as I got out of the car.
She gave me a wave before pulling away from the curb.
The minivan was stifling, having cooked in the heat for hours, so I quickly started the engine and rolled down all the windows while I waited for the AC to kick in. I pulled out of the lot, noting that I had just enough time to hit a drive-through Starbucks on my way to get the twins, so I headed to the left. I'd only had one glass of wine at lunch, but I still felt sluggish and like I needed a quick pick-me-up to make it through the afternoon.
I turned right on La Brea, amazingly making the light at the busy intersection. A few blocks later, I was cruising through traffic and merged to the left in anticipation of pulling off at the coffee stand up ahead. As I neared the cross street, the light turned yellow, and I hit the brakes to slow down.
Only I didn't.
Slow down, that is.
My minivan kept rolling forward, despite the fact that I had the brake slammed all the way to the floor. I pumped it up and down, thinking maybe something was stuck underneath the pedal. But no matter how many times I stomped on it, the car did not slow down.
At all.
Instead, it zoomed through the now red light, barely missing a Toyota that had turned in front of me. I slammed my foot on the pedal again and swore I only felt the car pick up speed.
My heart jumped into my throat as I came to a terror filled realization.
My brakes weren't working.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Fear knotted in the bottom of my stomach. My brakes had been working fine that morning. Had something happened to them while it was parked at Legends? I kept pumping the pedal, praying for some sort of miracle. I glanced down at the speedometer. I was going fifty in a thirty-mile zone!
Another traffic light loomed ahead of me, its bright color switching from green to yellow. I held my breath and sailed underneath as it changed again to red. Bile rose in the back of my throat as I scanned the road, hoping for anything to give me a soft landing. I was still going too fast to pull over anywhere, and there were cars parked on either side of the street.
I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. A sedan had just double parked, and I swerved to the left at the last second, barely missing it. I shot back over to the right and almost clipped a woman in the crosswalk.
"Help!" I screamed out my open window. Sadly, there was nothing anyone could do to help me.
Another traffic light was approaching. It changed to red when I was still a few feet away. No way would I sail safely through this one. I glanced to the right and spotted a side street. I quickly jerked the minivan in its direction, screeching as I made the turn without brakes.
The side street curved downhill, and as a result, the minivan picked up speed again. Which kicked my panic up a notch as well. I could see a condo community at the bottom of the hill, a small pond filled with serene looking ducks sitting in its center.
Right in my path.
Sweat broke out in a river on my forehead.
Beside the condos was a visitor parking lot. It was largely empty, except for one lone food truck with a giant taco painted on the side. The words World's Best Fish Tacos were painted next to it in large letters.
My choices were limited. Either swerve into the lot and risk hitting the truck or cross the intersection and wind up in the water. I didn't care for either one.
At the last minute, I made a decision and swerved to the right. I heard my tires screeching and felt the inertia slam me into my driver's side door as the car spun in a circle. I slid right into the food truck with a sickening sound of metal crunching on metal, knocking it onto its side.
Shredded lettuce and onions rained down on me like confetti from the open front of the toppled truck, along with several slimy uncooked fish fillets. The smell was overwhelming, but more importantly, the minivan had stopped and I was alive. Blissfully alive. I still clutched the steering wheel as I tried to catch my breath.
A man who looked to be in his sixties wearing a white hat and apron printed with the same taco as on the truck ran over to me. "Are you crazy? You hit my truck!"
My hands were shaking so badly that I didn't dare remove them from the steering wheel yet. "Sorry," I squeaked out.
I must have sounded as pathetic as I felt, as the guy's tone softened. "Hey, you okay?" He opened my door and extended his hand while looking me up and down with dark, suspicious eyes. "You high or something? Or maybe too many drinks at lunch?"
"I did not have too many drinks at lunch!" I said indignantly. Just one. But that had been hours ago. "My brakes stopped working."
He gave me a dubious look, like he'd heard that one from day drinkers before.
I managed to undo my seat belt and stepped onto the solid ground. I was afraid to see the damage to the vehicles, but at least I was alive to tell the tale.
I went around to the front of the minivan to examine it. My front right tire had blown out, and there was a huge dent in the fender where the car had made contact with the food truck. Some pico de gallo was scattered across the hood, along with a little guacamole. And I feared some serious body work would be needed on the side where the truck was currently leaning on my van.
I pointed at the food truck. "Is this yours?"
He nodded. "Sí. Best fish tacos in So Cal." He stuck a hand out my way. "Carlos Mendocino."
"I'm sorry about your truck, Mr. Mendocino."
He gave it a slow look. Then he glanced down at my rhinestone studded shoes. "You look like you have good insurance?"
I nodded. While it was hard to tell how much damage had been done to the truck, the fact that it was currently leaning on my van was not a good sign.
Carlos smiled. "It's okay, then. They'll pay for it. I need a new paint job anyway." He paused. "Maybe some new tires, too."
Yikes. Though, there wasn't much I could say about it. I had plowed right into his parked vehicle. "Sorry," I said again.
Jeopardy in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries Book 12) Page 15
